Colors: The Little Blue Engine That Could
by Liv Wilder
Summary: "Top or bottom?" you asked him, when you edged in through the door of your Amtrak Viewliner Bedroom compartment – the last one available on the train - your cheeks flushing at the intimacy you were about to share: a night alone together in the less than spacious confines of the sleeper cabin of a New York bound train." Post-Cuffed story.


_A/N: This story is a bit of an experiment. It's pure fiction (when is it not, you cry) but you'll see what I mean. Set early-to-mid Season 4, right after 'Cuffed'. The setup to this blatant piece of gratuitous titillation is that Rick and Kate have been on a trip to Chicago to interview a person of interest in a case, and they're returning to the city overnight on the Amtrak Lake Shore Limited sleeper service (don't question why they didn't fly, just work with me here)._

_The action alternates back and forth in time and point of view - you'll get the picture - before merging closer and closer until we get to the end. Italics are Castle's point of view, the non-italicised are Kate's, and you'll notice the tenses are different too. Not my usual style, but let's give it a whirl._

_Rating is M for sexual content and language._

_And as is Caskett FanFic tradition (yeah, I just made that part up too) there is only one cabin left on the train, so our delightful couple have to share…_

_Thank you to CB, for reading and listening and putting up with my half-finished ramblings. That you liked this means the world to me._

* * *

_This 'Colors' story is an early birthday present for NoOrdinaryLines. You rock, AC! Keep doing what you're doing girl, cause it's working for ya! _

* * *

_**The Little Blue Engine That Could**_

_Shhh. Close your eyes and relax, she's here. Breathe deeply. Inhale her light, fresh scent. Prepare for the slide of her body over yours, warm and pliant and wonderful. The feel of smooth, supple skin under your hands, the nudge of your knee separating her thighs as she rocks her hips towards you, arching beneath you, fingers splayed wide, pressing into the muscles of your back. Her hair fans out across the pillow in the tight space of your bunk as the train's motion sways you together. Her fingers curl up to cup your jaw, brush your throat and thread through the fine hair at the back of your neck._

_And you shudder._

* * *

You've been staring at one another on and off all day - sneaking glances, catching him watching you, locking eyes and holding on. Maybe it's the biting Chicago wind that nipped at your nose and stung your cheeks, forcing you to huddle closer whenever you crossed the street or sat in the back of a cab. Whatever it is, something has changed. Like a switch flicked to 'on', the current is flowing, electricity arcing between you with dangerous regularity, sparking and shorting, ever since you woke up cuffed to one another on a dirty mattress on that basement floor, surfacing from a shared dream that had you imagining you'd just spent the night together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

_'Don't get up yet, stay in bed.'_

Because awake or asleep, you do have great minds, and you know what they say about those…

So, now you find yourself here, forced to share this tiny tin can of a cabin for the next twenty hours, as the night train hurtles like a silver bullet back from the Windy City towards New York's Penn Station.

Dinner was awkward, while you killed time until the 9.30pm departure, the setting too much like a date. You dined on white linen tablecloths in an old French brasserie close to Union Station, with red velvet banquette's and Belle Epoque mirrors, their silvering crazed and worn thin with age, blue and black lobsters prowling their tank until fate called and time ran out. You sat side-by-side in the booth, backs to the wall, watching the room, elbows brushing over bread rolls and boeuf Bourguignon, flattering candlelight illuminating your faces with golden generosity as you struggled to force the chill out of your bones. And the wine…let's not forget the wine.

And everything there led here. The light-hearted banter, your easy laughter at his jokes, the sparks that shot up your thigh when he touched your knee to make a point, boundaries disappearing faster than ice cubes when you do that thing that you do, all since you asked him to hold your hand in that damp basement.

_'So the cuffs won't cut in'._

* * *

_You peel off her silk slip, periwinkle blue and creamy white lace, one delicious strap at a time. Pale pink nipples, framed by golden tan lines, brush up against your chest, and suddenly all the air leaves your lungs, and you're panting breathlessly above her. You circle one breast with the tip of your finger, teasing. Then pinch the soft, swollen nub to stiffness before attacking it with your tongue, sucking lightly until you hear her moan. You cup the other breast in your palm, massaging gently, enjoying the feel of firm, smooth flesh as she bites her lip, trying to hold it together, the white cotton sheet balled up in her fist._

_When you lean back to get a better look at her, your hips collide, pressing you up against her core. One more nudge and you're sliding through her wetness, capturing the moan she emits with your mouth on hers. You tease with your lips until she opens up for you, and you can sweep your tongue inside, probing deeply until you have to come up for air._

_Breathless, shaking, heart racing, racing, racing._

* * *

"Top or bottom?" you asked him, when you edged in through the door of your Viewliner Bedroom compartment – the last one available on the train - your cheeks flushing at the intimacy you were about to share: a night alone together in the less than spacious confines of the sleeper cabin of a New York bound train.

_The romance of the rails._

He smirked at you and you dared to hold his gaze, brushing past him as you removed your coat, your breasts grazing his chest when you shrugged out of heavy wool in the confined space, his mouth suddenly dry, throat bobbing convulsively.

"I'll go on top then, shall I," you added, boldly, opening your overnight case to begin getting ready for bed.

He asked you if you wanted a nightcap, producing a half bottle of vodka from his bag. You told him to pour you one and turn away while you changed out of your work clothes, for once not really caring if he did.

"Bring your cuffs?" he joked, nervously, you assume for something to say, while he waited to be told it was safe to turn around again.

'_Next time without the tiger.'_

"Why? Will I need them?" you teased back, shimmying into a blue silk slip that left little to the imagination; the night attire you'd brought with you assuming separate hotel rooms and a short flight back to New York.

He was staring when you turned back round, his mouth slightly open, lips parted in speechless wonder.

"Beckett, I'm sorry I…" he stammered, caught out and having no excuse nor a clue what to do about it.

You stuck your hand out for your drink, took the plastic glass he offered and bumped it against his. "Cheers. Now you're turn," you told him, knocking back the vodka in one go and turning away to pour yourself another one.

The angora cardigan you produced from your bag was insufficient to keep you warm, though enough make you at least a little less exposed, while you listened to your partner shed his own clothes.

But this was never going to work, not here, not for very long.

* * *

_She arches her back when your fingers skim her spine, cradling her against the motion of the train. Then her hips buck upwards, gliding over you, swollen, aroused, and it's such sweet torture; wanting her, having her so close, but not nearly enough. You can't hold back anymore, can't even think of a single reason why you should._

_"Oh god, I need you inside me," she begs, breathlessly, desperately, breaking through the last of your resolve, her heart rate speeding up, hammering against your chest as she grips your shoulders fiercely, her chest flushed with need for you._

_So, with one slow, deliberate stroke, you enter her, quivering as she surrounds you, tight and wet and right. Her legs wrap around your waist, her hands smooth down over your buttocks, drawing you deeper, as she arches herself up over you, curling, curling to draw you deeper, and you curse; shuddering._

_Your movements start off slow, a careful slide in and out that brings every nerve in your body alive. You squeeze your eyes tightly closed, fighting the urge to just ride her as hard as you can until she screams out your name and brands your skin with her fingernails. But it took so long to get to this point that you're determined to enjoy every single second of it. She's so wet and hot, her hips rocking upwards, constantly, feeding you into her, establishing such a needful rhythm, pressing her body hard against yours while her muscles grip you firmly inside, undulating over and over, again and again._

_The train lurches, taking a bend, and her eyes fly open, darkening as she watches you, a tight mix of need and desire when she reaches up, a little panicked, her breath hitching in her chest, holding on._

* * *

The climb to the top bunk became inadvisable after the third vodka, topping up the wine you had with dinner. Your head was a mess of wanting and knowing, the space was too confined, your personal possessions, your clothes and his…_stuff_ and _him_, all too close, too…accessible, available, _here_.

_Right here, Kate._

The cabin had two beds - a lower bunk that was wider than a twin and a narrower, upper bunk that folded away during the day - a vanity, mirrors, stowage space, and a small shower room combined with a toilet. There was no escaping one another, save for the dining car that smelled of gravy and overcooked vegetables, harshly lit by unforgiving, artificial lighting dreamed up by the most unromantic, unaesthetic, vanity-less product engineer ever to walk the earth. Lone travellers, agency salesmen, and the odd young couple in love, haunt the dining car at that time of night – too depressing or too uncomfortable to be around, given your relationship history. So you were stuck here, together – in your small sleeper cabin – looking at one another and trying very hard not to touch.

"You seriously planning on climbing up there wearing that?" he asked, roaming his eyes slowly up your bare legs to the point where lace framed the top of your thighs and his gaze stopped; hovering.

"Maybe after another of these," you said, reaching for more booze.

"You might want to slow down?"

"Why? Afraid we'll run out?" you asked, holding up the bottle to offer him another measure. "You know they call this train the 'Late for Sure' Limited?" you told him, slopping vodka into the glass made from corn. _Seriously? From corn?_ "Nineteen hours is sure to turn into twenty-four. So drink up."

"Are you drinking to forget something?"

"No, I'm drinking to get warm. It works for the Russians."

"Yeah, well, blankets work for this American. So, how about we hole up down here for a bit?" he suggested, indicating the lower bunk, already stealing pillows and blankets from the top one to make a kind of den before you could even argue with him.

"Are you asking me to share your bunk, Castle?" you teased, the motion of the train swaying you on your feet. It wasn't the alcohol. It wasn't him. No, definitely not that.

"Just get in Beckett," he said, holding back the covers for you, a white undershirt and navy boxers his only remaining armor.

"Do you think the universe is trying to tell us something?" you asked, once you were huddled beneath the navy bedding and crisp white sheets, cold Chicagoan air still clinging to your hair.

"The universe? Oh, this I want to hear," he laughed, bouncing and wriggling to get comfortable in against the wall, as if preparing for some epic bedtime story.

"_What?_"

"_You,_ talking about the universe…" he grinned, shaking his head. "This ought to be good. So, what's the universe telling us, Beckett?"

"_Locked_ in a freezer, _cuffed_ in a basement…"

"_Sharing_ a sleeper car. Yeah, the universe really has it in for us," he smirked.

"Shut up! It's obviously _you_. I never got into these kinds of scrapes before we met."

"I don't believe that for a second. It probably just wasn't so fun...or so memorable."

* * *

_"More," she moans, close to your ear, her warm breath ghosting over your damp skin and making you shiver. "Please?" she begs. "Harder," the smooth plane of her stomach sliding against yours, flesh slapping wetly, dirtily._

_You grip her hips, and drop your head down to her breast as she smiles against your shoulder, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. Your lips begin a slow, teasing dance over her reddened, swollen nipple, sucking, and then nipping with your teeth until she grabs your head between two hands to still you, and says, "Dear God, Castle, just fuck me, please?"_

* * *

"Getting any warmer?" he asked, pulling the covers higher, while you sat stiffly beside him, trying not to touch, but all too aware of the heat he was giving off.

"Beckett, are you shivering?" he queried again, when you failed to answer, both of your hands now cupped around the 'corn-fed' glass of vodka as if that was going to make a jot of difference to anything but the headache you would have by morning.

Cups make from corn, alcohol made from potatoes. You shook your head, trying to clear the thick fog of arousal away.

"I think I might have frostbite," you grumbled, drawing a laugh of surprise from your partner.

"Should I ask where or is that classified information?"

"New York is cold this time of year, Castle, but Chicago…? That is some special kind of hell," you complained, ignoring the frostbite remark.

"Here," he said, holding out his arm so you could snuggle closer, in against his chest. "For warmth. No funny business, I promise," he said, making room for you in the corner, the pile of blankets and pillows doing nowhere near as much for your body temp as the instant your legs slid down next to his; those warm, hairy, muscled thighs and calves of his pressing up against your own smooth limbs, never so thankful that you'd shaved that morning in your life.

"See," you muttered, pulling the covers up towards your chin, your brain-to-mouth filter acting up because of the cold or him or both. "Another cruel universe joke."

"Cruel, how?" asked Castle, his voice dropping low and gravelly now that you were wedged against him, hip to hip, his arm loosely draped around your back, warm blood starting to flow between you, feelings stirring that you both continued to fight.

"Well," you began carefully, almost as if watching yourself from above - the dangerous line you knew you were walking, playing with his life and your own, remembering all the touching in that basement, his hands all over you as you climbed his body, his sheer physical strength, or when he told you that he admired your legs, and when he got behind you to push that freezer…

Yeah, thinking about that? None of it helped.

"Well?" he prompted, pulling you out of your fantasy-riven daze.

"Uh, we are both…we're both…"

You closed your eyes tightly, really screwed them shut, feeling like a skydiver about to drop out of a plane.

"Partners?" he suggested, before you could come up with an answer of your own.

"_That_, yes," you acknowledged, with as much control as you could muster.

"_And?_"

"And…single," you pointed out, that one word making you shiver with its dangerous mix of truth and dare.

"Yes, we are. But, Beckett, I still don't see the cruel joke."

Tipping point. Your brain is screaming – _tipping point!_

"Kate?" he said, his voice too low and too intimate, scraping away at something in your heart, too knowing and too close and no, no, no.

"This is a really bad idea. I should…I should go up there and we should try and get some sleep," you blurted, squirming out of bed, your sweater hanging off one shoulder, hating yourself, as you struggled to stand upright and maintain some semblance of dignity on a moving train, late at night, with a quarter bottle of vodka in your system and very little clothes on.

"Kate, don't. Don't go," he insisted, gently, reasonably, crawling to the edge of the bunk to capture your wrist. "You'll hurt yourself and it's too cold. Come on. Lie down," he cajoled. "We can sleep down here, together. We've done it before."

You gave him a look, but he wasn't for backing down.

"Come on. Basement, remember?" he prompted, innocently, playing into every fantasy you've been running round your head since you started out on this fateful trip.

"We were drugged," you pointed out, dryly, sitting down heavily on the edge of his bunk nonetheless, your shoulders slumped as you leaned forwards over your knees.

He put a hand on the middle of your back, smoothing it up and down over your sweater in a soothing manner.

"Come on. Don't get cold," he said, tugging lightly on one shoulder to get you to lie back down.

You fell onto the mattress and dutifully tucked your legs under the covers while he held them out for you, lying on your back, staring upwards.

"So, do you come here often," you came out with next, feeling giddy and stupid and like a teenager at a slumber party all of a sudden.

"How much of that stuff did you drink?" asked Castle, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you.

"Enough," you said lightly, tugging on the front of his t-shirt.

_Now or never. Now or Never. Now or never._

"Kate what are you doing?"

"What do you think?"

"Making a mistake, if this is the vodka talking."

_He gave you a way out – claim drunkenness – off the hook._

"No. No, this is me. Still think it's a mistake?" you asked him, eyes clear, face deadly serious.

"Kate…" he sighed, his eyes closing as you reached up, slipped one hand behind his head, holding it there for a second, letting him get used to your touch, gently brushing your thumb into the dip at the nape of his neck, feeling the power you had over him, before you applied a little pressure to get him to come closer.

"I know you want to," you whispered, brushing his lips with yours. "I do too."

"Please?" he begged, warring with his own conscience. "This is not the right time."

"Castle, the universe is kind of insisting," you grinned, faintly ghosting your lips over his again, tempting him, but leaving the final decision up to him.

"And what? It would be rude not to? Kate, I don't want you to hate me in the morning," he explained, still holding back, though you could feel his resolve crumbling, his need growing.

"I have no intention of hating you, Castle. Quite the opposite. Now, will you please just kiss me?"

* * *

_You cry out when she implores you to fuck her, driving deeper than before, shuddering with the control required to hold yourself back from simply exploding into her immediately. You grip her hips, breathing heavily. Her eyes are open, watching you, urging you on, ready to plead with you if you falter. She feels sensational, beyond anything you could have imagined, and oh, how hard you have tried to imagine. Her need more than matches yours, her body is flawless, her skin, her mouth, the way that she touches you telling tales of a desire as long hidden and denied as your own, and so much more than that._

"_Ahhh," she cries out, instantly burying her face in your shoulder to muffle the sound, clinging on to you. "So close," she whispers, breathlessly, undulating her hips in time with each thrust you make, pulling back, circling, marking time to make it last._

_Her body takes from yours, her head is thrown back, her spine arching spectacularly, breasts thrust upwards, her slip now a tangled, wanton mess around her hips, as you watch her writhe under you._

"_Ohhhh, God, Castle!" she curses, opening her legs wider, one foot bracing against the wall of the carriage, the other one hooking around your waist. "Hmm," she hums, pleading, as if in pain. "Close."_

_You feel a trickle of sweat run down your back, her face is gloriously flushed, and you reach up to hold onto the bunk above, lifting your weight off her just slightly, giving her more room to move, to writhe, to strive, to stretch, to reach._

_When you come, it's together, her climax breaking a fraction of a second before yours, dragging you along with her, both cast adrift in star-filled heaven; sparks like shooting stars firing behind your eyelids. The silent, clinging, shuddering crescendo peaks just as the train picks up speed, the rocking carriage feeding into your orgasm, easing you both over the edge into blissful oblivion. You grunt, burying your face in her hair, the warm damp skin of her neck sticking to your cheek, her scent surrounding you as your body succumbs to her; pumping, fluttering, shattering, shuddering, breath held and eyes screwed shut; embracing one another with frightening ardor._

* * *

He listened to you for once, leaning down just slightly so that your lips finally met in the softest, most tentative kiss. You struggled upright, chasing after him, being the one to push this time.

"Castle…?"

"Kate," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, pausing on the abyss, swallowing hard. "Don't… We can't do this if…" he sighed, and you could see him warring with himself – desire and good sense doing battle. "Kate, I can't do this if it doesn't mean…"

"Mean…mean what?" you prompted, cupping his jaw and searching his eyes, waiting for an answer.

"What _does_ it mean? I don't know," he shrugged.

"Castle this is you and me," you told him, tenderly stroking the skin under his right eye with your thumb. "It means what it means, okay."

You wanted him, you just weren't quite there yet; ready for declarations and putting this into words. You heard him - before. The big secret between you, keeping you apart. But he didn't know that and though you were pretty sure you felt the same way, the words wouldn't come.

"No. No, look, we have to go home. In fact, we're _on_ our way home _right now_, and we have to go back to working together and I…I can't get off this train if I make love to you, Kate, and act like things are the same as before. I'm sorry. I just can't."

He shrank back into the far corner of the bunk, crossing his arms as if that alone would protect him from this, then he smoothed the covers in preparation to sleep, to sweep your tentative progress under the carpet again.

"Okay, well, you know what?_ I_ can't get off this train without things being different between us either," you said, forcefully, before lowering your voice and taking his hand. "I want you, Castle. So much. After we were trapped in that basement together…I meant what I said, there is no one else I would rather be in these ridiculous situations with than you. That's got to count for something?" you asked, hopefully.

"God," he sighed, dropping his head into his hands and shaking it.

"Castle?" you prompted, tugging gently on his wrists so that you could see his face.

He looked up suddenly, the gift of an idea flashing across his face, a new resolve in his eyes.

"We have Ryan's wedding in a week. Right?"

"Yes," you replied, cautiously.

"Come with me? I want us to be each other's plus one, Kate. That way we make whatever happens tonight count. We force ourselves to get past whatever it is that's been holding us back, and we commit to something."

"Something very public," you pointed out, trying to think through all the implications of this plan on the fly.

"You think people don't already think we're sleeping together?" he asked you, still looking torn and upset, but somehow more prepared to fight with you rather than against you now.

"I don't care what people think…"

"Then prove it. At the wedding. We go together and let people talk. Kate, we need to force the issue here. The universe, fate, whatever, none of that is going to get us anywhere unless we choose to make it happen."

"We'll never hear the end of it," you pointed out. "Lanie and Espo will just…"

"Do you care about that or don't you? Make your mind up. Because you _say_ you don't care what people think, but it sounds a lot like you care to me."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You're right. You're right. This is no one's business but ours."

"So? Do we have a deal? We go to the wedding together, you dance with me, we feed each other cake and…"

"Hey, you're switching up the terms on me already," you laughed, poking him in the chest.

"Was it the cake?" asked Castle, grinning, and then leaning in to kiss you lightly, fingers tentatively cradling the back of your head.

"No. I can live with the cake. Just don't dip me when we're dancing," you murmured, shaking your head and kissing him back.

"So, we're gonna be dancing?" he whispered, kissing your hair, your ear, brushing your throat and running his thumb down your neck and along the line of your shoulder, before hooking it under the thin strap of your slip and sliding it down your arm.

"I think we already are," you nodded, exhaling slowly, teasing the corner of his mouth with your fingertip. "But no dipping," you grinned, shaking your head.

"No dipping. Understood," he repeated, smiling a shy, silly smile, while he caressed your bare shoulder.

You kissed him again, deeply this time, letting teasing run out the back door and passion flood in through the front. Your hands were on his back, thumbs skirting under the edge of his t-shirt, hunting skin.

"Off," you panted, tugging his shirt upwards, letting him do the rest in the confined space of the bunk, quickly pulling it over his head and throwing it away.

He laid you down on the bed, covering your body with his own, drawing a shuddering sigh from your lips when he pressed himself against you.

"No going back, Kate," he whispered, sliding the flat of one palm all the way up your thigh, watching you darkly when you let him nudge your legs apart with his knee.

You shivered when he pushed your slip up to bare your stomach, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your bare belly, your muscles rippling at his loving touch, and then he moved to the inside of your right thigh, caressing your skin; reverently, carefully.

He rubbed the edge of his thumb over your underwear, soaking the fabric with your own juice, and you moaned together; you, clutching helplessly at the sheets, your hips beginning a sensual dance as you waited impatiently for more, him, watching you with a look of unconcealed awe on his face.

"These are coming off," he told you, quietly, as if narrating his lovemaking, preparing you for each new stage.

You lifted your hips for him and he stripped your panties off, dropping them on the floor by the bed. You felt gloriously exposed, stretched out on the navy-blue blanket, watched by wide, blinking, sky-blue eyes and the kind, open face of the one man that you trusted with both your life and your heart.

Outside the window, the inky velvet darkness sped by, the constant motion lulling you, farms and towns, fields and trees oblivous to the love story unfolding inside.

"No going back, Kate," he told you again, helping you to strip off his boxer shorts, his naked body a whole new, amazing revelation to you.

"Shhh," you whispered, arching up to kiss him, groaning aloud at the pulsing, hot sweep of his tongue over your lips and into your mouth, while your fingers skimmed his ribs, his body finally coming alive under your hands. "Shhh."

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so we came full circle, back to the beginning here. Kate's point of view meeting up with Castle's._

_Love to hear what you thought of that, since it's not a style I've used before. Thanks for reading. Happy first Castle-less Monday, folks. Only 19 more weeks to get through! LOL Liv x_


End file.
